Rayadell’s head scarcely even cocked toward Calanon when he stepped forward and spoke, her gaze boring into the other archer, refusing to break eye—or weapon—contact with Cordon until the human answered. Her lips pulled down slightly when she sensed the elf turn his back on them.
	She watched Cordon struggle to swallow, all his body’s excess moisture glistening instead on his brow. Unlike Calanon, when the human answered, she stared at him for an excruciating moment, her cold, silvery gaze trying to see through his words, part of her enjoying watching him squirm. After all, he had been willing to shoot her and Calanon down only a couple minutes before.
	A mix of confusion and irritation flashed in her eyes at her companion’s quick turnaround, as if nothing unusual had transpired on the path. Though his smile went unnoticed, her mouth remaining a firm line, his tone was impossible to miss.
	“Very well.” She pulled the blade of her staff away with deliberate slowness, as if reluctant to remove it without blood staining its tip. She returned it to her side with an elegant flourish, and its long, thin blade retracted back into the staff at a push of her will.
	Not as eager to turn her back on him in case he had a confidence boost with his superiors’ backs to him, she walked backwards a couple steps toward Brogach and his mount. Only when she heard the elk adjust and was sure it stood just a couple paces behind her, did she turn, her cloak swirling slightly around her feet.
	Ignoring Calanon’s helpful hand, she mounted Brogach, using her staff as an aid, and settled behind the elf. “Onward, then.”